go, go, gourmet.

I recently copied down a recipe for Summer Garden Pasta from the Barefoot Contessa’s cookbook. The dish required me to julienne basil leaves and mince garlic, which seemed mighty upscale compared to my normal noodles, veggies, and sauce-from-the-jar pastas. But, I needed to venture beyond those humdrum basics. I purchased grape tomatoes, fresh basil leaves, kosher salt, and angel hair noodles at Central Market, as Central Market automatically instills sophistication and the illusion of a gourmet future in the average grocery shopper.

For the accidentally forgotten garlic and parmesan cheese, I stopped by Target after work the next day—the day I would master Summer Garden Pasta. I wandered between the two kitchenware aisles, fascinated by nifty apple slicers and wary of potato peelers. To my great dismay, no housewifely women were in sight to answer my amateur questions. What exactly is a paring knife? Why are there so many variations of cheese graters? How are you supposed to use this garlic press? Do I even need a garlic press?

Twenty minutes later, with a not-so-ominous pink chopping knife in my cart, I arrived at the garlic bins. And I panicked. I needed six cloves. What are cloves? The entire thing? That would be, like, a pound of garlic! What kind of recipe is this? Not trusting my own judgment—a wise decision—I asked a friendly-looking young woman to enlighten me. She smiled one of those “oh you’re so adorably clueless” smiles and informed me that cloves are the small sections, not the entire thing. With a quick “okay thanks bye,” I rushed to check out, go home, and test my cooking skills.

I poured olive oil into my new glass bowl and added the red pepper flakes and other seasonings. I halved the tomatoes, julienned the basil, and minced the garlic with my “it’s a girl” pink knife. I was getting pretty impressed with myself—I felt so Rachael Ray. Four hours later, after the mix had soaked and been stirred around the angel hair, a friend and I ooh-ed and ahh-ed over the finished pasta. We sprinkled on extra parmesan and basil—an extra touch of class—and photographed the masterpiece. I felt ecstatic, almost giddy. I hadn’t botched the recipe! Rather, my Summer Garden Pasta was good. Seriously good. And my next gourmet meal will be even better...so I hope.